One Undying selfportrait
by Danakir
Summary: A selfportrait of imperfection from Evangeline A.K. Mcdowell.
1. Chapter 1

**One Undying self-portrait  
**

A walk into an accursed daylight, I've grown accustomed over the years to such annoyances. Obviously, this wasn't always that way. In fact, in the first few months it was a hellish torment. It doesn't burn me; a punishment of this nature would be far too merciful for a fake fangster such as I. Instead, it singes me, it torments me, and it toys with me endlessly. My flesh isn't meant for such an intense fever, an ice queen should never melt into the torment and weakness of illness. Woe is me, akin to a wild rainstorm I feel this solar liquid pouring down unto me from my quarter's main window. My whole body, my whole flesh, and my whole being tremble under its feverish assaults, unable to keep the icy liquid refreshing my inner tissues inside. Soaked velvet and hellish fever, a most tasteless combination. In such a predicament most would swallow their pride and ask out loud: "Father why hast thou forsaken me?". Heck, any fair maiden would do this. However, I am not fair, I am no maiden, I shan't swallow my pride and I, by Lilith, sure as hell have no 'Father'. Time goes on, languishing into an eternity, as if the very air around me was made of a thick fog that obstructed the very flow of time. Lo' and behold, I now drift away, far from my body, far from my golden prison, back down oh-so familiar memory lane. Blur of instants, blur of eternity and blur of opportunity, all one in that anarchy of a mental image I call memory lane. Before me a pulsation, chaotic blur of pure memory, which slowly swirl before me, slower by the moment, until it forms a clear image _unto _my mind. Somewhat as if memories were but imprints of time on our mortal souls. I see it now… the memory. I was so young, so greedy, and so foolish…

How might it have occurred to me that by doing this I would forever and ever after imprison myself willingly in this abomination? I'm no child of the night, I'm no child of Lilith, and I'm no child of darkness, for I am merely a foster child of eternity. Slowly floating into a halo of dim light I can see my own flesh and blood, my own doppelganger of a distant past. So frail, so small and so young, yet in the face of eternity it is my ever-present doppelganger that is, even, if I daresay, my doppelganger to be. I am bound to this body of mine, bound to this age of mine, bound to this choice of mine! Golden hair that shame the brightest of daylight, smooth skin superior to even porcelain, and visage of a femme-fatale, all these are mines. Yet, I shall forever be a mere child, a grade-schooler. In body mind you, for nature wouldn't have the mercy to leave me with an equally childlike mind.

In the distance, a weary traveler on who a cloak lays. Tranquil and almost intangible I still can hear the echo of his name in every hysterical recesses of my mind.

"Nagi."

Did I love him? Did I ever love? Maybe I did, however I could also just have wished for someone to love me, without loving them back. Is that love? If it is then all these book are full of lies, not that this would be the first time I discover an aspect of this world to be nothing but deceit. Not that he loved me or wasn't a pure bastard. Which reminds me, I'll have to rip his gut off if he's still alive.

Then there's Negi Springfield, _his _son. Oh dear Negi-kun… I have so much to tell you little Negi-kun…

This might be a dream but still I can feel even my body tilts its head slightly at the irony, my mouth turning slightly upward into a smirk despite the harsh fever that still assault me.

You can stab me Negi-kun, I'll bleed fake blood in exchange for your tears.

You can hit me Negi-kun, I'll shatter ice bones that shall not forget the puny hit you graced on 'em when I dig my fangs into your neck.

You can pity me Negi-kun, my heart shall not forgive your family nor shall my thirst be held back by mercy.

You can despise me Negi-kun, know that you shan't be alone in that endeavor.

I am Dark Evangel, the Undying Magi, and I shan't ever let you forget that. I'll have little Negi-kun no matter what…

Forever and after mine, not out of love, not out of hate but out of thirst. Thirst of revenge and feverish abomination that is my choice shall mix as I'll keep you, mine forever in a little cell.

I'll never forget you Negi-kun, that'd be far too easy.

No love for poor Negi-kun, only love for Negi-kun despair. That's Evangeline for you, 'Negi-sensei'.

My body pulls on my soul; I can feel it returning to its flesh imposed imprisonment. Still a thought linger in my mind…

_Eternity's a long time in Mahora Academy, Kanto, Japan, **Hell**._

I can now open my eyes but it would be useless.

Same old house, same hold window, same old light, same old Chachamaru.

Yet I still open my heavy eyelids and stare at Chachamaru intently.

"Is there anything you desire, Mistress?" My dearest Chachamaru ask of me.

"Since when have I been in everland?" I asked cynically.

"I do not comprehend, Mistress." Chachamaru states in her usual soft-spoken yet monotone fashion.

"Nevermind, it's all about this." I say with a chuckle.

"Everything." I say as I close my eyelids once again so I may drift once again in a dreamless yet feverish night.

Yet before my mind shut itself far from all this torment I have one last thought that forms itself into my mind.

_Yet, ever since that winter night…_

**The End?**


	2. Chapter 2

**One Angel self-portrait**

A wistful melody hums lightly in the cold air of my room on this night. Elegant, temperamental, and yet with undermined passion, a piece I can relate to. I believe I can even hear the quiet sound of a tubular bell reverberating in the background of that small harmony. A piece by the Trans-Siberian Orchestra, I'd say if I am not mistaken. A favourite of mine, also, but that's not something you'll find me sharing with the public. The dwellers of this place, those _ruffians_, couldn't understand true Art if we were to force-feed it to them. _If we were_, what a sore expression for me to use on that night. I can already see it, on my desk that little Victorian clock with the precious golden metal frame. The cycle of the Raven comes to an end and soon the circle of the Moon. The room's ambiance is now glacial, the chilly air tracing ghostly trails in front of me, as if trying to impress me with their nightly ballet. The fireplace isn't aflame; I have no use for such a commodity above purely aesthetic considerations. Far into the winter night, through my window, I can already hear it, what they call the 'Silent Night'. They will all join back together with their families, their friends and maybe, for the bolder, their lovers. Most people would be inclined to believe eternal life grants one freedom from all timely matters. They could not be farther for the truth for eternity does not grant any respite to me, on the contrary. In fact, time possess that strange power to slow itself down to the point of appearing nearly immobile, almost unmoving, to those of my kin, and it drives the weaker of us crazy. After what might have been an eternity I took back the volume of poetry I had laid on the layer of silk covering my laps. I took a small breath and read with amusement what one of my kin before me had written on that accursed yearly indulgence of the mortals.

"Hark how the bells,  
sweet gloomy bells,  
all seem to say,  
throw cares away

Christmas is here,  
bringing fake cheer,  
to young and sold,  
sick and the cold,

Bing bong bing bong  
That is their song  
With gleeful ring  
All murdering

One seems to hear  
Words of ill fear  
From ev'ry where  
Filling the air

Oh how they sound,  
raising the count,  
o'er hill and stale,  
telling a grim tale,

Gaily they ring  
while people sing  
songs of ill tears,  
Christmas is here,

Merry, merry, merry, merry Christmas,  
Merry, merry, merry, merry Christmas,  
On on they send ,  
on without end,  
their last tone to every home  
Bong bing bong bing, bong Dong

Now they rain down  
Without a mere frown  
To the bomb the city fell  
Bing bong bing bong sang the bell

_The city of Nuremberg was burnt to the ground near midnight on the 24th December of the year 1951._"

I gave a contented sigh as I uttered the poem's last word. I slowly closed the  
tome's cover when I heard a slight creaking noise behind my chair, where I would usually have cast my shadow.

"What do you want, Chachamaru?" I asked with a harsher tone than what I meant to use. Even such exquisite poetry couldn't completely dissolve the unnerving aura of that peculiar moment of the year.

"Mistress, may I inquire about the identity of the one who gave birth to the  
little piece of poetry you just read?" Chachamaru asked in her usual soft  
monotone and extreme politeness. Before Evangeline had even the slightest  
chance to give her an answer Chachamaru approached the fireplace and  
kneeling slightly lit it up quietly.

"A man who was once worthy of respect." I said without much of any emotion.

"I understand." The machine answered back to the vampire.

The fire now sat in the fireplace brighter than ever. The warmth emanated from it in a quick succession of waves that came down near my feet where they would crash as if I was the shore to an invisible sea of heat. Everything  
about it was of a perfect clarity in the room's frigid space. I smirked  
knowingly. Few people knew this but Chachamaru has a deep hatred of darkness  
and as such made a lot of undue effort to keep some sort of light around me when  
possible. How and why she came to 'despise' darkness is unknown to me but  
she does not fear it, strangely enough. She's truly an almost human machine,  
I guess.

Then I can suddenly hear it in the distance, covering the weak melody of the music box standing next to me. The lone bell of the Mahora Clocktower rings into the  
chilly midnight air while, at the same time, the twelve strikes of the Moon  
cycle announce the arrival of Christmas Eve.

"Chachamaru, isn't the clocktower simply divine in the light of the new  
moon?" I asked her nervously. My whole body almost trembled from the  
conflicting emotions, marvel at the scenery before me and disgust at this  
time of the year. I wanted to cry both of joy and of despair.

It felt horrible beyond words, even to me, the coldest of all.

Then without warning or words my dearest Chachamaru took me in her strong  
and stiff arms of cold metal and embraced me silently, like a mother would  
her child; soothingly and gently.

"Chachamaru…" I said with a heavy sigh. Why did she need to be so human yet  
so inhuman?

Why did she need to be so much like… _me_?

**End of part 1**

Author Notes: Many thanks go to Sheo Darren for not only being nice enough to leave a review but also reminding me about this story I had completely forgotten about.


End file.
